It was raining outside, as it had been for several days now. It was a good thing. Heavy rain meant less fighting, and Saxon could really use a break from the carnage. He sat inside the thick walls of the castle and spied as best he could into the grey gloom of the forest outside. At least he wasn't out there, like the enemy was, getting drowned in the neverending downpour. He knew all too well what it was like for them. Knew what it was like when everything was wet, when it felt like even your mind had started to soak, how the panic felt once you realized you couldn't escape it. Or the cold. The days were all right, but the nights... that's when the fever started to set in. And fever or not, you'd have to get up and fight in the morning. There was no alternative. The christening of these barbarians had gone all wrong. They just wouldn't accept the salvation of the Lord Jesus Christ. And so they fought.
He admired them, in a way. They were a hard people. Others would have crumbled against the might of the teutonic order, but these people wouldn't quit. Rain or shine, snow or otherwise, they just wouldn't surrender. He was all dry and well up here now, and he had his doubts about the situation. But the enemy never complained. Not that he had noticed, anyway.
Castle was the wrong word for the building he was in. It was a tower with a small wall, nothing more. It had been erected in the middle of nowhere to shield other, more important settlements from harm. And it had certainly done it's duty. He wasn't sure how many raids they had stopped, how many people they had killed. He sometimes wondered how many of those bastards there really were out there. They seemed innumerable at times. Like the trees in the forest.

He heard steps from below and turned to see who it was. One of the servants climbed the stairs towards him. Their eyes met, and Saxon realized the servant had come looking for him. "Excuse me, sir knight" she said, "One of the other knights sent me to fetch you. It was urgent." Saxon raised an eyebrow at this. "Who sent you?" he asked. "Sir Osrik. He's down by the battlements." Saxon nodded thoughtfully and looked outside once more. He spotted Osrik there, looking up at him. They were not on good terms, Osrik and him, but the man outranked him and so he had no choice but to abandon his dry, warm spot by the window for the cold rain outdoors. "Very well", he murmured, "I'll go see him. You can go about your duties." The servant courtsied and left. I wonder what he wants now Saxon thought as he started descending the tower.

Ixonia was impatiently waiting for someone to allow her to stable her creatures. Not only was she tired but the sheep were about to produce their lambs and in fact she had two on the floorboards bleating. One never knew when the lambs were to be born and it looked like they were to born any time. She was weary and just wanted to rest somewhere in a bit of peace. Ixonia knew that she was going to have to pay quite handsomely for this but she was ready to do so.

A loud bleat alerted Ixonia to the birthing of the first lamb in her small flock. She quickly tied the reins off on the curved horn then knelt to check out the mother.
"Tis ok. Soon it will be all over and ye will have a little one to take care of. Now breathe easy for a minute......" she spoke in a soothing tone to the tired mother.

Theodora sat in some dining hall of Hohenwart Abbey. Her face was buried in the shawls of the gloomy atmosphere, starkly silent with breathless prayer. Her prayer rope was draped in her lap, beading through her fingers calmly, collectively. Her olive eyes glanced at the food in front of her, some vegetable soup, which a complainer announced in the midst of the prayers that this was all the nunnery had been offering for the last several days. Theodora could not judge the poor, whispered woman, however. This woman was with an infant, and the lack of food was causing her milk to run dry. The nuns had been encouraging the woman to drink wine to help increase her lactation.

There was not much noise, in the dining hall except the occasional clinking of eating utensils against plates. The candle lights flickered with the personality of the weather crying outside the shelter. The weather made the most music throughout the hall, and it danced with the candles, offering the only light. The mantra of the Jesus prayer was easy to fill in repetition in Theodora's mind amongst these conditions, which were so natural and revealing of the dark human condition.

The sisters were quiet, waiting patiently for their most honored guests to finish eating. The abbess lingered near the entrance, head of the table, watching over the sisters. Theodora was happy for the rain, the fighting was calm despite the subtle violence of the weather. She did not enjoy the fighting, it seemed so pointless and gory and yet part of the human culture. Inside the monastery, they had been proven safe, protected by God. He had blessed them so far and hopefully, despite the darkness looming over the city, His light would shine forth through all the icons and offer protection through the All-Immaculate Lady and all His saints.

Theodora recited a Hail Mary, coming to a porcelain bead on her prayer rope, before continuing her mantra of the Jesus Prayer. She drew in small breaths from her dainty lips, continually listening to the silence of the dining hall. The conversation was lost to the weather and so was Theodora's prowess, for the time being.

Behind his mask Petruccio grimace, he recognized the smell even through the herbs that were stuffed in the beak. Opening the door he strode into the dimly lit room, his eyes darting this way and that looking for his patient. The man, a retainer for a local lord, had not been seen for two days after being excused from court on account of chest pain. That was when Petruccio had been called, all feared the black death, but none were brave enough to enter into the home without the doctor. And, as it turned out, they were right to do so. Sitting at his table, head down and face contorted in pain was the retainer. Sighing Petruccio drew out his cane and tilted the mans head back, dried blood was caked beneath his nose and along the corners of his mouth, the black bubos standing out as well. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, the doctor drew out a wooden rosary and laid it in the mains clenched hands, and after saying a few hushed prayers removed himself from the dwelling. Outside waited a small cart and two assistants the lord had sent to help with the matter, each was hunched over their horse, the hoods of their cloaks drawn in an attempt to keep the rain out. Walking over to the cart Petruccio reached in and grabbed a small book, pen and ink, and a large cloth, the noise drawing the attention of the two "You two go back to the castle. Tell the lord I recommend a full two day quarantine of anyone who came in contact with this man in the past four days." He ordered in a stern voice as he turned back to the dwelling

"But sir that is most of the lower court and-" One of two began to complain, causing Petruccio to pivot on his feet

"I know, and I don't care. If he wants the majority of his people alive, he will listen to me."Turning back he entered into the house. After laying out the cloth flat, Petruccio recorded the mans name, what his symptoms were and the date of his death and the date his symptoms emerged. Putting the book away he grabbed the body and dragged him over to the cloth and laid it down flat, straightening out the stiff joints. After wrapping it tightly he once more picked it up and carried it out to the cart, putting it in the back. Walking back around front he climbed into the front seat and spurred the horse on and out of the city, towards a pit far off in the distance, lined with wood and brush. Stopping at the piles and pit he got back down and once more heaved the body out and laid it in the pit, alongside a few others. As he did this an old priest came to the edge and preformed last rights over the bodies, giving the deceased one last measure of peace. As he did this Petruccio and another placed more brush in between the bodies, which were also getting drizzled with oil. As soon as the rights were given a torch was tossed into the pit, causing the oil to erupt, despite the rain, which eventually caught in the brush and then the logs. Petruccio turned, done with the whole affair and once more mounted his cart and spurred the horse back into the city, towards his home. Looking back from the gates he could see the glow of the distant blaze, the light cutting through the dreary night.

Lightning lit the sky outside of the monastery, marking the hour for everyone to retreat back into the resting quarters. The abbess granted goodnight blessings, daring to let each lady and child kiss her delicate, but strong hands. After receiving her blessing, Theodora left the dining hall, hiding under the cloak. The rain poured heavily from the sky, like sharp, liquid bullets, seemingly designed to kill just like the disease plaguing the land. The darkness of this age deemed to be deadly and morbid, no matter the location, city, town, or country. This left Theodora disheartened as she made her way to her room for the night.

Although, she typically repressed her feelings, in such weather, she did not mind having small tears trickle down her rosy cheeks. Small sobs could not be heard through the weather. Her hand clutched her prayer rope, tightening her grip as she tried to control her tears, to make them stop dribbling down her face. She tried to think in prayer, but the dreary atmosphere kept haunting her thoughts, driving in ghosts of the past through her memories. It had been almost a year since she left for Hohenwart, and her mind had still not found a cure for herself. She felt alone, especially since the knowledge of the death of her family was still a fresh wound in her heart.

As her boots slushed through a puddle, she noticed a huge blaze, a fire. Bodies burning, most likely. Or a house had been struck by lightning. The cloud of smoke drank the rain water from the sky, and boiled through the night's landscape. The smell did not reach her, but she still wondered in fear. She continued walking, trying to think nothing of the fire. Her cloak began to soak, absorbing the heavy water crashing from the storm clouds overhead. Her hair was tucked nicely behind her scarf and cloak, but she could still feel the fingers of the rain knocking at her mind.

Most of the women hurried to their quarters. The nuns moved exhaustingly quickly. A few children cuddled close to their mothers, afraid of the demon night lurking around them. Theodora picked up her pace, casting her eyes away from the naive, innocent children. They did not understand the true nature of the disease and sin that viciously ate away at the heart, minds, bodies, and souls of the people around them, but nonetheless, they still hoped for a solution, a way to come out alive and loved. If it were not the fighting happening outside of the walls, it was the plague frothing the West or the weather drowning the lower village or casting fires from the sky. This was torture to these children, they knew no security besides the hearts of their mothers.

As Theodora reached her cell of a room, she opened the door, immediately dropping her body into its presence. She removed her cloak, and found herself in the most immodest clothing as possible. The night was cold, and so, in her dear immodesty, she was still heavily clothed. Her cloak was hung to dry, and her hair was let out of the scarf, but kept in a braid. She removed the blanket from her bag and some lavender oil. She draped the blanket around her and sniffed her nose over the now opened container of lavender oil, letting the aroma out her into a calming trance, as to better think straight. She wiped her damp face, from tears and rain. Tonight would be long.

Before going to bed, she brought out her pocket prayer book and began with the Trisagion. Her body bowed down several times throughout her prayer, to touch the ground, in metanoias. Her body quickly lingered into the bed after her prayers were completed. She let out a deep sigh and hoped she would be able to sleep. She had been needing less and less sleep as which by the days went, and admittedly, she was beginning to miss sleep and the need for it. She was starting to feel more like a monster than a human, and this, of course, worried her.

She stared up at the ceiling, seeing the lightning flash through the sky, followed by loud hollers that roared across the heavens. The small pre-lit candle danced with the shadow demons tempting the poor, young maiden witch, and all Theodora could do was watch in an exhausted manner. So badly, she wished to play with the shadow people and leave this land to make more magic, but she knew it was wrong, she knew in her heart not follow the shadows. However, the scary fires gripping at the sky and the lightning scratching their bodies into the clouds made it harder for her to follow the light.

Ixonia by now had delivered 2 fine babes and the remaining flock were hiding under the wagon with the Shepard dogs keeping an eye open as each one settled itself down to sleep in the frightful rain. She set the mothers under the wagon with their babes before looking about. She did not see anyone from the tower but she did see from afar a rather large fire. She only knew that one of the two things had happened and nether of them were any good at all.

She quietly said a prayer for those who lived in the home as well as those who had been there during the last week. It was not a good night to be out at all. The wind was whipping around the wagon so much that she wished that she could demand entrance from who ever is inside. But rules are rules so she pulled out the stitched together series of blankets and wrapped the bottom of the front wagon, pegging them down as she went. When she got to the horses she spoke kindly to them.
"I know it is not a fit night out for man or beast but I shall give each of you a bit of oats and wrap a blanket around you to help combat the cold. If anyone comes out, perhaps we can shelter inside but I rather have my doubts about it."
As soon as she finished with her animals, she went inside too tired to care for herself. A cup of old coffee and stale bread was her meager meal. She simply turned down the lamp until it went out so that she did not waste any costly fuel and ate in the darkness. She then laid her head on the table to wait out the night.

Petruccio shivered involuntarily as he arrived at his home, the cold rain beginning to soak through his heavy robes to his clothing underneath. The cart came to a creaking halt as a thunderclap boomed across the sky, drawing both the attention of the tired horse and the tired doctor to the sky. If there ever was a sign God was displeased with something the rolling boom, that shook even the glass in Petruccio's mask, would have been a perfect indicator. Hurrying himself down from the drivers seat, as the heavy rain picked up, the young doctor grabbed the reigns and lead the cart and old horse into the stable provided by the city. Removing his mask he set about unhitching the cart and taking care of the sopping horse before collecting his mask, dashing into his home, closing and bolting the door behind him. After stoking the fire back to life, and lighting a few candles, Petruccio set about removing his soaked robes, hanging them next to the fire to dry. As the clothes began to dry, steam rising from them and curling up and into the rafters, Petruccio set a small pot of water on the fire to warm, after which he retrieved a large bowl, a small earthenware jar and a small rough cloth. Opening the jar reveled the sharp smell of vinegar, which he poured a small amount of into the bowl. Carefully retrieving the pot, he tipped it's hot contents into the bowl as well, mixing the two together into a two to one ratio of water and vinegar. Dipping the cloth in the solution, Petruccio began to wipe away the sweat of the day.

After a few minutes he set down the rag and sighed, putting his head in his hands. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, the combination of the plague victims and the battle wounded were taking a heavy toll on all of the doctors in the city, what little there were, and Petruccio was no exception, even now his eyes closed slowly as the comfort of rest seemed to call to him. Yet he could not succumb to the exhaustion that toyed with his mind, not this close to the waxing of the full moon. He felt it there, as always, sleeping beneath his skin, growling and waiting, waiting for his will to slip even an inch, waiting for the call of the moon, even now it stirred out of hunger and the approaching full moon. Petruccio gritted his teeth and forced it back to sleep. Standing he quickly gathered together some dried meat, bread, and some thin stew from this morning that had warmed from the fire. He ate all of it ravenously, ripping the meat off in large mouthfuls, which were followed by swallows of stew and mouthfuls of bread. The sight was over in mere moments, Petruccio letting out a contented sigh as he swallowed the last of it. "That should keep it satiated for a while. he thought to himself, and from what he could tell he was right, for now, the beast had abated in its rousing, its hunger no longer felt. Finally able to admit defeat, Petruccio doused the fire with what remained of the vinegar solution, and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, falling forward into his bed at the first opportunity, quickly detaching himself from the world, at least temporarily, in sleep.

The thunder screaming across the heavens was not helping Theodora fall asleep. She lie in the cot like bed, staring up at the ceiling. Shadows flickered and mocked her like a puppet show above her, on the stone ceiling. She cursed them, silently to herself, breaking from her mantra of prayer. She turned her face away, revealing her cheek to the demon dwelling ceiling. Her eyes faced the door. Rain was knocking against the door, demanding her open it. She refused. It appeared the whole night was out to toy with her in some stark, indecent manner.

She grabbed at her prayer rope, underneath the blanket, feeling her fingers over the soft, silk texture of the knots. Her fingers grooved over the beads, and the weave, gently, patiently. Iesu, Christe, Fili Dei, Domine, miserere mei, peccatoris. The words whispered from her feminine lips as she strongly resisted the urge to play with with the shadows, and pick up the spirits with her fingers, as she did when she was a child. She knew it was wrong, a temptation, a sin. Peccatoris. She repeated in her mind, harshly, knowing full well what she was and where she may go.

Beyond the stormy veil of clouds, the moon still bore her face, bravely, boldly, almost as of she was called to conduct the orchestra of events happening in Bavaria. Theodora could see the moon shining through the window. How could the moon be so silent while all this happened. Was this a sign from God? Theodora removed a hand from her prayer rope and wiped a tear from her face. It was not fair, and yet, all too well, Theodora knew it was indeed fair. God was punishing them all for plenty of reasons. Perhaps, the rain was to cease the fighting. A rainbow would shine forth after the rain ceased. She continued thinking these thoughts, as the scent of lavender melted her into a trance of a sleep.